Magnetic Filth
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: It will be me that gets that promotion - that I can guarantee. And I plan on using, abusing, and publicly disgracing everyone who gets in the way of my succession. Psychopath!AU. Warning: Swearing, Drugs, Sex, and Terrible British Humour.
1. Sparks

**A.N: **This is will be a short-ish multichap. Please take the following into consideration before reading.

This is _extremely _AU and the characters WILL BE OOCish. I'm using the AU "Psychopath" from the 85 AU challenge on HPFC.

It is loosely based on the 2013 film "Filth" if you have seen it, so if you recognise any similarities, there you are :)

**Warnings include:** Sex, Language, Crude British Humour, Drug/Alcohol use.

Please R&R, feedback is greatly requested!

* * *

><p>People ask me, "Narcissa, how do you and Lucius keep the spark in your marriage?"<p>

It's really simple, honestly. I'm just the ultimate tease. Lucius and I aren't that different, you see. We're two sides of the same coin – we know what we want, and we know how to get it.

Like this promotion I'm going for.

Life is easier now that I live alone. No husband, no son – I can be the free woman I always wished to be. I have a smart job at the Ministry, and I'm_going _for that promotion. And when I do, Lucius will come back to me. Just wait. He will.

Just wait.

Me, Lucius and Draco. The Malfoys; one big, happy-fucking-family again.


	2. Career Advancement

oOo

London is a dump these days. You can't walk down the street without slipping in a dog shit the size of your fist, and almost ruining your Louboutins. If not for magic. Oh, that fucking wonderful magic we have – believe me, I would have thrown away a fair amount of expensive footwear if not for my wand.

But walking through the streets of London is the only way to get to my destination. The Ministry of Magic; the sparkling, successful ruler of the Wizarding World. And _I _have a job there, me, Narcissa Malfoy.

Narcissa Malfoy, Secretary to the Personal Assistant to the Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office. Soon to be Narcissa Malfoy, _Personal Assistant _to the Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office. Well, it's not written down on paper yet, but it _will _be me. You have to be the best, you see – and I usually am. The games are _always _being played when it comes to being the best of the best, and no one plays the games better than I do.

After reaching my office within the Ministry, I sat down at my seat at the circular table, where meetings were held by the Boss every week.

"We have a problem with dodgy Portkeys," he was saying through his thick mustache, whilst reading from a thick sheaf of parchment. "Old muggle man picked up what he _thought _to be his dogs shit, turned out it was a Portkey, and sent him straight to the Weird Sisters concert in Dublin this week. Turns out there are a lot more like it – and we need to find out who is playing this ridiculous joke."

I looked over the table, at another man who was sniggering. Davey Gudgeon, stifling his laugh and covering his remaining eye. "Care to share the joke, Gudgeon?" The boss asked.

Gudgeon stands at about six foot, and is mangled and scarred and wears an eyepatch after a run in with the Whomping Willow when he was at school. Out of all the other members of the office, Gudgeon is my biggest competition. So of course, he - along with the rest - must be eliminated.

My next rival is seated next to Gudgeon. Dirk Cresswell. I know he really wants to work in liaisons, but he's settling for the next best thing, for now. Anyone with any sense of class would call Dirk a metro-sexual, but he is what my husband would call "a fucking disgrace". He spends most of his time and money down at the muggle gay bar, tucking his coins into their trunks.

After Dirk is probably the closest that I will get to a friend – Barty Crouch Junior. He's the newest, arriving shortly after I did, and is typically the office junkie. He comes into work most days smacked off his face with powder around his nose, his hair tousled and the smell of sex on his skin. He isn't really a competition, seeing as he spends all his earnings on crack, and his idea of career advancement is succeeding in shagging the receptionist. I occasionally throw him a fuck when we're on duty together. It'd be rude not to.

Though, even though I could leave Barty alone, it wouldn't be fair on the others. Being the kind and generous soul that I am, I plan on publicly humiliating Barty, just so that he doesn't feel left out, you know.

The last person who I consider to be fair competition is the only other female in the Improper Use Office, and typically is someone that I happened to go to school with. Greta Catchwood, a cheese-obsessed slag who would definitely suck the boss off right now if it meant that she would get that job handed to her on a silver plate. Not that it would do her any good, mind – she's a complete liability, and it's definite that some wanker somewhere in the Ministry will eventually impregnate her, and her stint at trying to get my job will be well and truly over.

I was daydreaming too much to notice that my colleagues had started shifting in their seats, and were beginning to head back to their desks. I shot up quickly, but the boss cornered me. "Quick word, Narcissa?"

"Yes, Boss?" I replied, hugging several rolls of parchment to my chest – the parchment that I should have been making notes from the meeting upon.

"Things are pretty stretched around here, until we get the new PA position filled. I'd like you to head this Portkey case, as I'm going to be tied up with some other issues. It will be good practice for you, and would definitely put you above the others for the promotion."

I can't help but smile as the boss pats me on the shoulder and goes back into his private office.

It's a game, like I told you. A game I'm naturally good at.


	3. Dynamics

oOo

There's nothing more attractive to a man than a powerful, successful woman.

I know that when I get my promotion, Lucius just won't be able to keep his hands off me…

I'm sure that as soon as he hears that I've succeeded, he'll want me straight away.

I have to be powerful, I have to be important and influential and _dynamic_. Lucius will want me again; no, he will _need _me again, with a lust so desperate that he'll be bulging out of his pants…

Even the thought of his cravings for me makes me passionately cry out his name into the night.


	4. Jehovah's Witnesses

Thanks to Phoebe (Ophelia Joane) for Beta-ing!

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

"Aren't you worried that your little holiday to Amsterdam will affect your chances of getting the promotion, Cissy?" Greta was saying in a thin voice. She was smiling sweetly, but there was a glint in her eye that told me she certainly would _love _it if I was out of the picture for a few days – like she needed another opportunity to lick the Boss's arse.

"There is no way that I'm giving up my trip for a bunch of dog-shit Portkeys, Greta. No chance," I told her haughtily.

"Lucius is a very understanding husband, isn't he? Letting you swan off abroad with Barty," she replied, her smile stretching across her yellowing teeth. I blinked at her momentarily.

It was all too easy to keep my separation from Lucius a secret from the office. It made pretending that we were still together easier for me, too.

"Yes, he is," I muttered, turning to stare mindlessly at the corkboard on the office wall.

"I wish I had someone like that," she sighed, folding her arms over her chest and tossing her blonde hair out of her eyes.

"I bet you do, sweetie," I remembered a drug-hazed event from years ago, when Greta and I were shortly out of Hogwarts. "Tell you what, we'll have to get another threesome organised, won't we? Remember that? Was a good night, wasn't it Greta? Do you remember?" I smirked.

It was a terrible memory for Greta. She was fresh out of Hogwarts, from her pretty little position in Hufflepuff House. We shared a blunt and then fucked my then-boyfriend, Rabastan. Rabastan hadn't been impressed with Greta's non-existent skills when she had nervously ventured south on him.

"_Have you even started yet, honey-pie? Cissy, show her how it's done."_

I watched as the memory surfaced in Greta's eyes, and she shrugged it off quickly, a pink tinge rising in her cheeks. "I don't do those kinds of things anymore, Cissy," she hissed, before haughtily walking away. I chuckled to myself. Everyone has awkward, embarrassing memories – and I make a point of bringing up the ones of my colleagues.

Barty walked towards me, turning to stare at Greta as she hurried off to her desk, her face now the colour of a cherry tomato. "What did you do to her?"

I shrugged. "Oh, Greta and I were just reminiscing."

"Get your coat, Cissy. We have a lead on the Portkey case."

It turned out that Barty was right. A young wizard had been spotted hovering on Stoatshead Hill late at night, acting suspicious. He had been traced back to his home – a pokey flat in Diagon Alley, and that's where Barty and I would be spontaneously heading, right now.

I pulled my coat from my desk chair, and buttoned it up as we walked out of the office. Within a few minutes, we had stridden through the Atrium and we were out on the streets of London. We stalked down a nearby alleyway, I took Barty's arm, and we apparated into thin air.

oOo

Seconds were all it took before we were standing in the bustling street of Diagon Alley. "When we're done, we'll go for a pint," Barty muttered, nodding towards the Hog's Head. But for now, we had to walk in the opposite direction, towards the sparse village at the other end of Diagon Alley.

The apartment that the suspect lived at was above a tiny Apothecary, and there were a narrow set of stairs leading up to the doorway. We stood outside for a few minutes, as I refreshed my lipgloss and Barty puffed out his chest and shoulders. He glanced at me questioningly, and I nodded.

He banged on the door with the side of his fist fiercely. No answer. He did it again – with more force this time.

"Alright, fucking hell – I'm coming!" a voice shouted from inside. The door flung open, and a young, pasty skinned bloke wearing nothing but a pair of denim jeans was stood there. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded to know, glaring at Barty.

"Jehovah's _fucking _Witnesses, now get inside and answer some questions!" Barty bellowed, shoving the boy back into his flat.

I followed after them, turning my nose up at the interior. The paint was peeling on the walls, and the candles that hovered around the hallway were dripping wax on the dirty carpet. _Really. _A clean-up charm took mere minutes, and this place could certainly have done with one. Barty pushed the boy into the kitchen, forcing him into a wooden chair, and nodded at me to scope out the rest of the flat.

As it turned out, there wasn't really much to investigate. A small bathroom with a toilet and a miniscule shower cubicle, and a living room complete with a moth-eaten couch and a brass cauldron in one corner. The bedroom door was suspiciously closed, so of course I barged in without knocking.

I laughed out loud at the sight.

A girl was sat on the bed – about fifteen, not much older than my Draco. She was wearing a boys t-shirt, and was pulling the blankets around her thighs, to protect her modesty.

"Well, what the fuck do we have here?" I questioned, rolling my eyes, and closing the bedroom door behind me.


	5. Swinger's Club

oOo

Before Draco was born, we used to have these wonderful parties, Lucius and I.

Everyone would come to the manor, dressed impeccably in black lingerie, and we would swing it all night long.

Not just a sleazy sex party – no, we were classier than that.

But when I went crazy, and had to stop drinking and start taking pills (the prescribed kind) we had to stop the frisky parties.

Though, after this promotion…I'm sure that Lucius and I will host many, many more.


	6. The Beast

oOo

I watched, bemused, as the dark haired girl struggled into a modest position, and tossed her head back. "Get the fuck out!" she yelled, her brown eyes glittering menacingly.

I rolled my eyes, and leaned against the closed door. "That's no way for a young lady to talk." The girl looked familiar somehow, even in her flustered, false confidence. The bedroom stunk of sex, and I was pretty sure that's what they had been up to. "I take it you and lover boy out there were buttering the biscuit, am I right?"

She gritted her teeth, flushing. "None of your business."

"I see. You know that in Britain, the legal age of consent is sixteen? So how old are we, sugar?" I cocked an eyebrow.

"You should know that my father is very well respected in the Ministry."

"Ah." I was suddenly aware of where I recognised her from. I had known both her father, and her mother, during my time at Hogwarts. "I'd still like to know how old you are."

"Sixteen."

"Got a form of ID for me?" I asked. She averted her gaze awkwardly, and shifted in her seat. "No, you don't. Not a problem." I reached into my handbag and withdrew a sheaf of parchment, and an acid green Quick Quotes Quill, which I used specifically for making these types of quick notes. The parchment hovered in the air with the quill poised expertly at the top of the page. I cleared my throat. "Please note – female discovered at Apartment forty-four A directly above the Diagon Alley Apothecary, female is below the legal age of consent," I looked over at the girl, who was raking her long brown hair behind her ears, looking as though she wanted to protest. "Am I right in saying that your name is Astoria Greengrass?"

She nodded, slowly.

"You wouldn't happen to be the youngest daughter of Alonso Greengrass, would you?" I shot at her, suddenly.

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she swallowed nervously.

"Bingo," I muttered, and then noticed that the Quill was still scribbling. "Scratch the last part. So, Astoria, who's the boyfriend?"

With tears in her eyes, she spilled that the boy was Terry Boot, and he was seventeen. Further prying told me that he was a muggle born, just-out-of-school kid, and he was the same age as Draco. They were probably in the same classes together at school…

I shook the thought out of my head, and glared back at Astoria. "Imagine what Daddy would say if he found out that his little princess was riding Mudblood cock in her summer holidays? Do you want to do that to him, Astoria?"

"Please, don't!" Astoria cried, sitting up on her knees in the bed, the blanket falling down and exposing her pale thighs.

"What's it worth, Astoria, hm?" I challenged, kneeling down on the bed opposite her. She swallowed cautiously as I slid a hand into the front of my robes, and undid several of the buttons and exposing the basque I was wearing underneath. I raised my eyebrows at her daringly, and she blinked.

Suddenly, she leant forward and grabbed my face between her hands, and was kissing me hotly. Her mouth was wet, and she kissed me with too much teeth and pressure. I pulled away, and laughed loudly. "What the fuck was that?" I asked her, standing up and buttoning up my robes. She rocked back on her ankles, looking tear-stricken. "Who on earth taught you that technique, sweetheart? I've a good mind to tell your Daddy now anyway, after that poor excuse of an attempt."

"Please don't, that's not fucking fair!" she begged, and the tears spilled from her eyes this time. I bared my teeth in a grin, and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

* * *

><p>When I headed into the kitchen, wiping the excess saliva from my mouth, Barty had the Mudblood pressed against the wall.<p>

"I swear to God, she told me she was seventeen!" Terry was saying in a high-pitched voice, his eyes wide and unblinking.

"Dear, dear me, Cissy," Barty muttered, his palm gripping the boy by the neck. "Not the best time to be taking a trip to Azkaban for riding kids, is it, Terry-boy?"

"I'm sure he wouldn't do more than a year, Barty," I said with a smirk, taking out my compact mirror and checking my eyeliner in the glass.

"Oh, I don't know. Posh fanny, isn't she, Cis?"

I widened my eyes knowingly. "True, true. If old Alonso gets on the Wizengamot, he could be facing up to three years…doesn't sound great that, does it, Terry?"

Terry gulped with difficulty, his pathetic hands attempting to throw off Barty's grip.

"Thing is Cissy, what if a pair of Ministry abiding citizens like ourselves were to…influence the information that gets passed to the court?"

"Yes…maybe the girl in question was thirteen?"

"Eleven, even?" Barty added.

"Maybe even eight," I murmured.

Terry coughed. "Come on now, isn't that going a little bit far? She told me she was old enough."

I stood up straight and withdrew a silver cigarette case from my handbag. I stuck two in my mouth and lit them both with my wand, and then handed one to Barty. He inhaled deeply, and blew the smoke back into Terry's face. "Thing is, Terry, Cissy and I don't really want to be working on this Portkey case for much longer."

"P-Portkeys?"

"Yes, P-Portkeys," I hissed. "If you have any information that could help a pair of Ministry abiding citizens in a mysterious case of a bunch of dodgy Portkeys, designed to send unsuspecting muggles to extremely unsuspecting wizarding areas of the earth – then you will probably avoid a stint in Azkaban."

Terry gazed momentarily between Barty and I, while the information processed in his tiny brain. He opened his mouth and closed it several times, like a goldfish, and then eventually spoke. "No. I can't. I'm not a snitch."

I rolled my eyes expressively, and jammed my wand into his throat. "You're going to talk, or it's straight to Azkaban for shagging kiddies."

"You're disgusting," spat Terry.

"Ever been to Azkaban, Terry?" Barty asked.

"Barty's been to Azkaban, Terry," I broke in.

"Not somewhere a lad your age wants to spend his time. See, they've got this bloke in there – what's his name, Cissy?"

"Oh, Greyback?"

"Yes, that's the one. Fenrir Greyback, werewolf, he is."

Terry whimpered, and chewed into the skin of his lip roughly.

"Really, he should be somewhere a little bit more high security than Azkaban. Ran away from a wizarding prison in Germany originally. They say the only way to keep Greyback happy, quiet and abiding the rules is to stick a new one in there every week or so."

"A new one?" whispered Terry.

"Yep, a fresh-faced youngie about your age, with lovely dark eyes and a chubby little face," Barty slapped Terry's cheek, to express his point. "Big fucker, Greyback is. And he doesn't get tired of hearing the boys screaming in protest."

"One thing is for certain, you'd walk out of there with several new arseholes, honey," I interjected.

"That's if you ever do come out after an experience like that," Barty continued. "Sometimes after he fucks you, he starts trying to eat you. So what's it going to be, Terry? Grass up?"

"Or lock up?" I chided.

"Okay! Okay, fine!" Terry gasped, and struggled to sit up straight.

He gave us information, after that. It turned out that Terry knew of the boy that had been sighted on Stoatshead Hill, and that we could find him in the muggle village of Scarborough. Apparently, he was pining for the affections of the muggle girl who worked in an ice cream parlour on the seafront.

Barty clapped Terry on the shoulder for coughing up, and we left the pokey little flat, feeling satisfied that we had another lead.


	7. Love is Cruel

oOo

It's only Lucius that I love. I know that there are others who want me desperately – Amelia, mainly. I often find myself in her boudoir at the Bones household, tangled up in the bedsheets, and calling Lucius' name into the night.

"Do you really mean it, Narcissa? You're falling in love with me?" Amelia asks me, when we are lying together in the satin bedding, recovering. Amelia thinks she's being clever – she asks me these petulant questions when I'm about to climax – so of course, I haven't got a clue what I'm saying.

"You're a fucking bitch, Amelia, do you know that?"

Amelia looks shocked at my outburst, as I step out of bed and start to redress. "Why are you being like this?"

"Honey, shh, listen to me," I sit back down on the bed besides Amelia, once I'm fully clothed. "You let me in here," I point to the area between her legs. "And you let me in here," I jab a finger in the side of her temple. Finally I press my palm to the left hand side of her chest. "But you never, ever let me in here."

"So what was that, what we just did?" Amelia begs to know.

"That?" I stand up, checking my appearance in the mirror. "The Games, Amelia. A fucking great game. It was a test, too – a test that you have sadly and miserably failed."

"Why are you being so cruel?"

"Love is cruel, Amelia. Love is cruel."


	8. Couldn't Be Happier

oOo

"I think she's shagging someone else too, Cissy," Gudgeon was telling me while we stood in a line for dinner at the cafeteria, the next day. Gudgeon had been engaging in relationship with Amelia Bones for the last couple of years. She had told everyone at last year's Christmas party that she didn't care about Davey's missing eye; because it was true what they said – big feet, big— "are you listening, Cissy?"

"Huh?" I reached out, grabbing a salad bowl and placing it on my tray. "No, don't be stupid, Davey."

"It's killing me, because I can't even prove that she's doing it. Some use I am – I can't even solve my issues at home, how am I supposed to help on this stupid Portkey case?"

"Listen to me," I commanded, slamming my tray down on the table that we just reached. "Your Amelia is about as loyal as they come," I told him, pushing out the provocative image of the same Amelia between my legs, just the night before. "Chin up. You know you're the favourite for the new job position?"

"Ah, you reckon?" Davey asked, picking up his turkey sandwich and taking a bite. I nodded. "Hey, you're lucky. You and Lucius; you two have a great relationship, don't you? Are you both still as happy as ever?"

"Yes, couldn't be happier," I replied stiffly, the way I always did when Lucius was brought into conversation.

"How old is…"

"Seventeen. Draco's seventeen."

"By Christ. You don't look a day over twenty-five, Cissy," he responded.

I smiled tightly, and looked up as I spotted Dirk mince past, his trousers a little too tight around the backside. I rolled my eyes expressively, and Davey looked at me questioningly.

"Don't trust him, Davey," I muttered into my salad. Davey looked over his shoulder at Dirk, who was now leaning over another table, talking to a young bloke from the Administration department.

"Who, Dirk? What are you talking about, Cissy – he's harmless."

I shook my head. "Wrong. He'll stab you in the back without even thinking about it. Muggle-born, you see," I waved my hand at the shocked expression that Davey was wearing. "Don't look at me like that – you know how the muggle world operates these days. It's all gadgets and conspiracy theories… anyway." I swallowed the last bite of my salad, and then stood up. "Don't get too close to him. He'll be after your chances for the promotion, Davey. See you tomorrow."

"You're leaving? It's one in the afternoon," Davey replied.

"Yeah. I have…an appointment."

* * *

><p>It wasn't a lie. The third Thursday of every month was the same, for the last several years. I have an appointment at my old family home, with the resident Healing Psychiatrist from St. Mungo's.<p>

I hated and dreaded its arrival. Every month I considered my excuses for cancelling with Marie – that was the Healer's name, Marie. But there was no use canceling. She would just want to set up another appointment, as soon as possible. And the more I missed, the more they thought that I wasn't getting the help that I needed.

That's when they started considering the option of me returning back there.

I don't ever want to return to that damn hospital again.

So I have to grit my teeth like a good girl, and lie my way through the appointment with Marie.

She sat at Lucius' desk like she owned the place, while I had to sit in the plush red couch, as if I were a visitor in my own home. "How have you been since our last consultation, Narcissa? No problems, I assume?" I shook my head, staring at my fingernails. "Have you been taking your medication as prescribed?" a nod, still not making eye contact with her. "Well, if you have no questions…" another shake of my head. "Then, I won't see you again until the New Year, Narcissa." She stood up, hitching her leather bag onto her shoulder.

I stood up too, and walked her silently to the door. When she got there, she stuck out her hand. "Have a good Christmas, Narcissa!"

Instead of responding, I just shut the door in her face, and then ventured upstairs to my bed – my big, empty bed.

I needed to sleep. I needed to catch back up on my thoughts – I was so busy trying to figure out this Portkey situation, and manipulate my co-workers so that I could bag the promotion – that I had almost forgotten that my trip to Amsterdam was looming.


End file.
